


Strange Situation Protocol

by iesika



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Hannibal is a single dad!, He's also still Hannibal, Kidfic, M/M, Meet-Cute, so...caveat lector
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 08:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15945521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iesika/pseuds/iesika
Summary: Will meets an adorable child and her protective dad near the farmer's market and completely fails to get a phone number or even a name.





	Strange Situation Protocol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PragmaticHominid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PragmaticHominid/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Attachment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955014) by [Pragnificent (PragmaticHominid)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PragmaticHominid/pseuds/Pragnificent). 
  * Inspired by [Attachment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955014) by [Pragnificent (PragmaticHominid)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PragmaticHominid/pseuds/Pragnificent). 



> Title comes from the observational test used to determine attachment style in children and their parents. 
> 
> Nothing happens on screen and it's not discussed in any detail, but this fic does contain a major implication of some bad bad stuff happening to a child, consistent with the disturbing content level of the show.

Will has _got_ to teach Buster to heel. So many of his problems will be solved if he can just get the damned dog to stay put. 

All the others have learned with no trouble. Even Winston’s picking it up pretty quick, and he took to leash-walking easily. Ellie’s so mellow that he doesn’t think twice of dropping her leash by the front tire and flashing his palm at her to stay before taking off across the parking lot for his runaway. 

Honestly, it’s not like terriers are known for their sustained attention spans, but Buster sometimes makes him wonder if there’s such a thing as attention deficit medication for dogs. 

He manages to catch the little bastard before he can run into the street after… well, after whatever he was after, and scoops him up against his chest. 

“You’re going to kill me,” Will mutters and presses his mouth to the top of Buster’s head, enjoying his warmth and safety and clean-doggy smell for a moment before turning back to wrangle his last two into the Volvo. 

Except Ellie, good old dependable Ellie, is not where he left her, so he shoves Buster into the open window where the others are waiting to lick his hands. 

Vet day is such a pain in the ass. Maybe he should start scheduling them in batches of two or three, but then he’ll need to take extra time off work. It’s possible that at seven dogs he’s reached some kind of tipping point that’s going to require hiring someone to help transport and wrangle them once or twice a year. At least his job is steady and predictable enough he doesn’t need a walker most of the time. 

Will runs slightly slobbery fingers through his hair to push it back, and takes a few deep breaths. “Ellie,” he calls, as he looks around, keeping his voice high and light to hide his frustration. “C’mere girl?” 

Nothing. He steps back from the wagon and tries to tune out the panting and collar-jingling from inside, to see if he can hear Ellie snuffling around somewhere. 

Harley is whining. Why is Harley whining? Will glances back to the car and sees that about half the dogs aren’t watching him anymore, but are looking out the windows on the other side of the car. Will huffs in relief and jogs around to the driver’s side, and sure enough, there’s good old Ellie, having wandered all of two yards from the car. 

Will can’t really blame her. Buster may have torn off after a leaf or a shiny gum wrapper; Ellie held out for the all time dog-distracting champion - a small child. 

The little girl is...maybe four? Will hasn’t spent a lot of time around children. She has bright blonde hair and a very nice little yellow sundress that she’s getting absolutely filthy, sitting on the asphalt against the driver’s side tire with Ellie in her lap.

Will scans the parking lot, but except for a pair of teenagers with bikes, there’s no one else around. No adults for this kid to belong to. 

Well, fuck, this day just keeps getting better and better. His goddamn luck strikes again. 

“Uh,” he says. The child pulls Ellie tighter against herself and looks up at him, eyes wide. “Hello.” 

The child just stares at him, holding onto Ellie for dear life. 

Will bounces on his toes and looks around again, pacing in an anxious arc without getting closer or further from the kid. Maybe mom will burst out of the salon or the liquor store - well, hopefully not the liquor store. Maybe the shoe store? 

Will catches the wary way the child is watching him move and sucks on his lip. When his shoe bumps the curbs, he sits down and makes himself small. 

“I’m Will,” he says, without looking at the child. Stray dog rules probably apply here. He keeps his voice high and light and ignores Harley and now Winston whining for attention. “That’s my friend Ellie.” 

In his peripheral vision, he sees the girl hug Ellie tighter. Ellie swallows and pants, shifting awkwardly, nervous and hot. He doesn’t think she’ll bite, even if she gets squeezed or her ears tugged, but he really doesn’t want to chance it, and he doesn’t want Ellie uncomfortable either. 

He fixes his eyes on the window of the next car over, shiny and dark enough for a decent reflection. “Ellie’s a pretty good friend. We have to be careful not to hug her too tight, though. Ellie’s a gentle dog so she needs gentle hugs.” 

Slowly, gradually, the girl’s arms relax. Ellie settles more comfortably in her lap. When she turns her head to lay it on the girl’s shoulder, Will knows they’re back in safer territory at least for the moment. 

This feels entirely too much like a hostage negotiation. 

Will finds himself laughing silently, bent over his knees. Now the girl’s looking at him like he’s crazy, but not like he’s scary, at least. He turns his head and rests his cheek on his knee. “That’s good,” he tells her. “Ellie likes you. I can tell.” 

“I like Ellie,” the girl says. 

“That's good! She’s very nice. She’s a very good girl. Thank you for finding her for me. I’d have been very sad if she got lost.” 

The little girl frowns down at Ellie, who returns the attention by lunging forward to lick her mouth. The child squeals in surprise and drops her hold on the dog, reaching to try and push her back. She starts laughing as soon as she catches her breath, then tips backward under the onslaught to bonk her head softly on the side of the Volvo. 

“Ellie, come,” Will says quickly, in his no-nonsense-you-listen-to-me-right-now dog voice. Ellie leaves off immediately and dashes to his side, her whole butt wagging. 

Will breathes a sigh of relief and snags her leash before petting her in greeting. “Good girl. Thank you.” He looks up at the child. “You okay? You hit your head.” 

She hesitates, then nods, her laughter all dried up by the surprise of Ellie’s escape. 

He needs to keep her here, in one place, without scaring her, long enough for her parents to find them. “Do you want to meet the other dogs?” he asks her. “I can tell you all their names.” 

Her eyes go wide and she looks straight up to where Buster is desperately trying to reach her without falling out the window. 

“That's Buster,” Will tells her. “What’s your name?” 

She hesitates, silent for a long time. She looks down at her knees, her hands clenching and then unclenching in her pretty dress. “Mischa?” she finally says, and looks up at him as if judging his reaction. 

“That's a pretty name,” Will says, because he’s pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to say. 

Her mouth gets tight, and she looks away. 

Will is apparently very bad at small children. He’s not especially surprised by that. “It’s nice to meet you, Mischa,” Will tells her. “I’m going to get up, now, so I can introduce you to the dogs, okay?” 

She nods, and gets to her own feet, watching him carefully. He’s not sure if she’s frightened of him or just shy, but the thinks he can use the dogs to keep her in one place. Maybe be can get enough information to actually do something with. 

He’s reluctant to call this in, even though it’s been long enough without any sign of a parent that he probably should. He can remember his own terror from the handful of times the police had collected him from somewhere he’d gone wandering alone, or when social services had shown up at the door. There’s zero point in putting this poor kid through that when she’s probably just lost. Parents who dress their kids like that tend to lean away from the particular kinds of neglect that make the neighbors talk. 

Anyway, Will can get a better sense of her situation when he finds her parents. 

“This is Winston,” he tells her, approaching the car slowly. “He’s big but he’s very nice. Very calm. See? He has his tongue out because it’s getting hot in the car, so I’m going to turn on the air conditioner.” 

Of course, as soon as it becomes clear he’s headed for the driver’s door, all seven dogs start trying to reach him out the window. 

As he gets closer Mischa slides with her back to the doors until she’s near the back of the vehicle. She keeps well out of his reach, watching him with wary curiosity as he cranks the engine through the open window. 

“There,” he says, once it starts getting cooler in the car. “That’s better, isn’t it?” 

Mischa nods, so Will smiles at her and hits the button to roll the rear window halfway down. Mischa squeals in delight when Buster sticks his face out and licks her hair, mussing it. 

“So, Mischa,” Will says, after she’s had a minute to figure out how close to the open window she needs to stand if she only wants her fingers licked, “where’s your mom?” 

Mischa’s head snaps around to watch him, her eyes wide, then narrow. “You’re a stranger,” she says, and Will notices for the first time that she has a soft accent. 

Will sighs. “Yeah, I am.” He sits back down, hoping that’ll make him look less threatening. “You’re smart to be careful. I promise I won’t touch you, or try to take you anywhere. I just want to help you find your family. Were you and your mom shopping?”

She stares at him a little longer, and then, clearly watching him for reaction, says, “my mother is dead.” 

Well, shit. 

“I’m really sorry,” he says, for lack of anything better to say. It’s a sign of how his day has been going so far that he feels the need to follow up with, “Not, uh, today, though? Like, a while ago?” 

It would be a great big mess, and he’d hate it - he’d _hate it_. but If he has to call in a homicide at least the decision of what to do about Mischa would be out of his hands. 

Maybe he should call Alana. Alana would know how to talk to a small lost child without terrifying her even worse.

“I lived in France with my family,” she says, slow and careful with her words. “France is far, across the ocean.“

“Oh yeah?” Will asks her. “Parlez-vous français?” 

Her eyes light up, and she’s off, suddenly, in rapid fire French Will only catches about a tenth of. It’s been a long time since high school. 

She says something about her dad, and her brother, and an airplane and medicine and, weirdly, something about soup and pie, unless his sophomore vocabulary has failed him completely. 

Which is entirely possible. 

He’s just managed to figure out that vegetable market might mean the big organic farmer’s market that meets a few blocks away on Tuesday mornings - god, of course it does, her dress probably cost as much as his phone, of course she wandered off at the bougie farmer’s market - and then an older man in a ridiculous striped suit tears through the parking lot on foot, long legs pumping, with an expression like a terminator. 

The man spots Mischa before Will do more than identify the probable connection. With just a few long strides he snaps her up and clutches her to his chest, glaring at Will the whole time. He and Mischa are clearly a matched set. Forget phones - Dad’s suit probably cost as much as Will’s Volvo. 

And here Will is, dressed down for vet day and unshaven for a week, looking exactly like the kind of man who would ask a little girl if she wanted to come with him to see a puppy. 

“If you hurt my little girl-“ the man bites out, his richly accented voice all the more threatening for the obvious self-control he’s exercising. 

“She’s fine!” Will interrupts, holding his hands up. “I just walked out of the vet,” he tilts his head toward the storefront animal clinic, then at his car full of freshly excited dogs. “She was petting my dog when I found her. Just trying to figure out where she got lost. I haven’t touched her. She’s fine.” 

The man assesses the situation without quite taking his eyes off Will. His hand is curved protectively against the back of Mischa’s head, curls peeking between his long fingers. His other arm holds her body to him so tightly Will finds himself hoping she can breathe. 

He also finds himself with a little breathing trouble of his own, unable to break the eye contact between them. God, this guy is...stunning. Physically, yeah, obviously he’s gorgeous for an old guy, with silver streaked hair and obnoxious cheekbones and long slim legs and broad, powerful shoulders… but it’s more about the way he’s holding himself - his protective curl around Mischa, the way he’s poised like he could leap at Will’s throat at any moment, the slight curl of his upper lip, as if when he does come for Will he’ll do it with his jaws snapping like an animal. 

And then, in the space between one breath and the next, he reels all that tightly coiled violence back in. His grip on Mischa becomes gentle, loving, as he cradles her to him instead of clutching. His tight hand on her head relaxes, and he runs his fingers through her curls before turning to press his lips to her forehead and saying something in a soft, thick voice, in a language that isn’t English and isn’t French. It makes Mischa go still and quiet. 

“My apologies,” the man says. “My worry made me rude.” He’s still suspicious of Will, but he’s more worried about scaring Mischa, Will thinks. 

“I promise, I was just trying to get her back to her family safely,” Will says. He’s not expecting gratitude, but something about the guy’s eyes makes Will want to be absolutely sure the man knows Will isn’t any kind of threat to the little girl and she was never in any danger. “My name is Will Graham.” He hesitates, then starts to slowly lower his arms. “I’m going to reach into my pocket and get my ID,” Will tells him. “I’m in law enforcement. 

“You’re a police officer?” The man asks. Other than a brief glance down at the child in his arms, he hasn’t taken his eyes off Will since he arrived. 

“Not exactly,” Will admits. “I’m a behavioral forensic specialist with the FBI.” He gets his ID open and presents it, but the credentials don’t seem to reassure Mischa’s father. Fair enough. It’s not like cops can’t be creeps. “Desk job,” he says, trying to make himself seem harmless. “Mostly I teach, sometimes consult. I’m not in the field.” 

“I see,” the man says. Mischa has her eyes closed, her face pressed to her father’s shoulder. Will makes himself relax and roll his shoulders back. The bomb in the room seems to be defused. 

“I’m glad you found her,” Will says honestly. “She seems like a really sweet kid.” 

Mischa’s dad looks him over like he thinks Will might be bullshitting him, but after a moment he nods and takes a step back. “Thank you for keeping her safe and still until I could catch up.” 

It’s on the tip of Will’s tongue to offer them a ride back to the farmer’s market before he remembers his car is a wreck and currently full of dogs. So he just stands there stupidly as Mischa’s dad carries her away, around the side of the building and back toward the market. At the last moment, Mischa lifts her head and looks at Will, her eyes dark and soulful. 

Will smiles and waves goodbye. Mischa doesn’t smile back - she just holds his gaze as she’s carried away. 

Harley’s whines draw his attention back to his own family, and he scolds himself for his distraction. 

Shame he didn’t get the guy’s name at least. 

*

Will tries to hide his motive from himself when he heads to the farmer’s market the next Tuesday, dog-free except for calm and friendly Ellie on her leash. He just...has it on the brain. Fresh vegetables are good for you. He should eat them more often. 

He spends two hours there, first wandering around tasting things and filling a big canvas bag with fruit, and eventually sitting down under a tree at the park across the street, with a treat for Ellie and a stack of papers he needs to review. 

He doesn’t see them. Maybe they came earlier today, or don’t shop here often, or maybe Mischa’s dad isn’t planning to bring her back to this crowded and slightly chaotic environment until she’s older and won’t wander off. 

It was a stupid idea anyway. The guy was probably straight - he was married, had a kid… and lost his wife sometime in the last few years, so he’s probably not looking to date even if he were interested in guys. 

And really, Will and a single dad? What a fucking disaster that would be. There’s no way it would work. Hell, Will dating at all doesn’t work. He’s not even sure why the idea seized him so firmly - he’s usually not even that attracted to guys in a more than incidental way. 

Except, apparently, when they’re fiercely protective dads of precious little girls who like his dogs. 

What if it did work out, though. What if it did work out, and years from now they joked about Mischa and Ellie bringing them together, making them a family. 

With Will’s luck he should just be glad the guy hadn’t called the cops or beaten him up. 

He still has a dog and a bag of produce when he swings by Quantico to drop off the files, so he knocks on Alana’s open door and watches her face light up with delight. 

“No one’s ever brought me a dog on my lunch break before,” she tells him, taking Ellie from his arms to pet and cuddle her. Ellie bears up under the attention and affection with her usual aplomb, offering only a few dainty hand-licks that Alana seems perfectly happy to accept. 

“I brought food, too, if you want?”

“You’re an angel,” Alana tells him. “Jack called me in at four am for a murder in a motel. I haven’t had breakfast or anything.” 

They have a little office picnic and talk over the motel case and the report Will just turned in on that body the joggers found in the park without any fingers. 

He turns his head so he can pretend not to notice Alana hand-feeding Ellie bits of cheese he’s going to have to clean up the aftermath of later, and his eye catches on a framed photo on Alana’s bookshelf. She’s wearing her doctoral regalia and she looks ridiculously young and happy. 

And next to her with a gentle hand on her elbow, hair a little less silver, suit a little more sedate, is farmer’s market dad. 

“Who’s that?” He blurts, too surprised to be subtle or engage any kind of filter. Even more than the situation, the idea that luck may actually work out in his favor this time has him in shock.

“Hm?” Alana looks up and spots what caught his attention. “Oh, my graduation photo? That’s Dr. Hannibal Lecter.” 

He’s a doctor. His name is _Hannibal_ , geeze. That’s a mouthful. “How do you know him?” 

“He was my psychiatry mentor.” 

Well, fuck. He’s a psychiatrist. So much for that brief stupid fantasy. Will shovels salad into his mouth and doesn’t look at Alana or the picture. 

When the silence gets unbearable, he glances up to find Alana shooting him a sly look. She’s wondering if he’s wondering if they dated. 

“I ran into him, last week,” Will tells her, to head off any speculation. “Near the weekday market. He seemed nice.” 

“He is nice.” The gleam in her eye shifts, and she tilts her head, looking pointedly at his canvas bag of produce. “Near the market, huh?”

Will shrugs. “I didn’t catch his name. Just seemed like kind of a funny coincidence you have a picture of the guy on your shelf.”

“Uh huh.” Alana says, smiling now. “I could introduce you properly if you wanted.” 

Oh _no_. Accidentally running into them at the market, he could maybe handle. Some kind of deliberate, planned meeting or event, with Alana playing wingman? He’d never survive. 

“I just, ah,” Will starts, awkward. He feeds Ellie a piece of bread so he’ll have something to focus his hands and eyes on. “His daughter’s adorable. I enjoyed watching him with her.” 

Alana pauses with her sandwich halfway to her mouth. She sets it down again and looks at him. “Hannibal doesn’t have a daughter. It was probably just someone who looks like him.” 

Will frowns and examines the photo again. A few years younger, sure, and smiling, but he’s pretty sure. Photographic memory has to be good for something other than crime scenes from time to time. Will wracks his brain, trying to remember if Hannibal had ever actually said he was Mischa’s father. 

No… no he hadn’t. He’d called her ‘my little girl,” 

“Anyway, he lives in Baltimore. He wouldn’t have been up here just for groceries.” She considers for a moment. “Well, actually, he would, but only if they were _extremely_ good groceries.” 

“Maybe she was a niece?” Will asks. “They were so close, I just assumed.”

“No,” Alana tells him. “He doesn’t have any family. They all died when he was a kid.” She’s utterly unconcerned by the mystery, returning to her sandwich with a slight shrug. “It can’t have been Hannibal. But hey, if he’s your type, I could introduce you anyway.” 

“He has an accent,” Will says, and watches Alana’s eyes get a bit wider. “He speaks at least three languages. English and French and something else. He was wearing a suit with purple stripes and a tie like my grandmother’s floral curtains.” 

“Hannibal doesn’t have a kid!” Alana protests, but Will can tell he’s convinced her he really did meet the man. “Maybe he was there with a friend who had a kid. Or maybe she’s a patient. He does work with kids sometimes.” 

“She better not have been a patient. He kissed her,” Will says dryly. “I mean, I may not have a doctorate but I’m pretty sure that’s frowned at.” 

Alana just looks at him for a moment, then pulls out her phone. “I’ll just ask him.” 

“Oh no, Alana, no, don’t-“ Jesus, how embarrassing. Well, at least it’s not like his dumb crush was going anywhere anyway. He grumbles to himself as he collects the detritus of his lunch. 

After listening for about thirty seconds, Alana frowns at her phone, then dials again. Then she puts her cell down and picks up her desk phone, dialing out and then punching out a series of digits Will pretends he isn’t memorizing just in case. 

“That’s weird,” she finally says. “The number’s disconnected. Some kind of system error I guess.”

Will frowns at the phone on the desk. “That is weird.” 

Something isn’t right here. 

Alana tries some other numbers - home and office, maybe. She stays on the phone longer this time, and finally turns the phone away from her ear so Will can hear when the answering machine or voicemail picks up. 

“That’s him,” Will says, when he hears the voice rattling off the office’s emergency number. 

“Hannibal doesn’t have a daughter, Will.” 

“I saw them last Tuesday. Have you seen him since then?” 

Alana shakes her head, looking frustrated. “We were supposed to have lunch last Friday but he called to cancel a few days before.”

“Heard from him since?” 

“Will, stop. What are you trying to get at, here?” 

“I told him I worked for the FBI,” Will says. “He left as soon as I said I work for the FBI.” Mischa’s big, sad eyes look at him from over Hannibal’s broad shoulder, in his mind’s eye. Except, she hadn’t sounded very sure of herself when she told him her name was Mischa. 

She’d gone so still when Hannibal picked her up. Will had thought she was tired, relieved. 

“I have to go,” Will tells Alana. He gathers up Ellie, but leaves his groceries behind. 

“What the hell,” Jack Crawford says, when Will barges into his office and throws himself into a chair. 

“I need to report a kidnapping,” Will tells him.

She’d said her mother was dead. 

“Kidnapping and possibly a homicide. If not, then child trafficking. International transport of a minor, either way. Suspect is in flight.” 

Jack stares at him with his mouth open. “You didn’t even leave my office half an hour ago. How did you find a case like that between here and the gates?” 

Will pulls Ellie tighter against his chest and lets her lick his face for comfort. “Lucky, I guess.”

**Author's Note:**

> When I started thinking about remixing Attachment with Hannibal as the single dad, I couldn’t stop thinking “Oh no! Where did Hannibal get a baby!?” So I ultimately decided to just run with that feeling.
> 
> This is a one shot as part of Remix Revival 2018. The story is complete as is and I’m not writing more.


End file.
